The Longest Night of Thunderhill

We join the field for America's most entertaining 25-hour race. Also, America's only 25-hour race.

March 2004
By
TONY SWAN
Photos By
RICH CHENET

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In the realm of road racing, what could possibly be more fun than a 24-hour race? So much seat time. So many adventures. It's the ultimate test-of drivers, of crew, of machinery, of skill, of luck. Unless . . . unless the race could be even longer!

There you have a synopsis of the thinking behind the NASA 25 Hours of Thunderhill. If a 24-hour race is heroic, reasoned Jerry Kunzman, CEO of SCCA rival National Auto Sport Association (and yes, the other NASA knows about this-no problem), adding an extra hour would make it more so. To wives, sweethearts, employers, in-laws, and others who view sports-car racing as expensive frivolity, this kind of thinking is clearly laced with lunacy. But racer logic is rooted in much different psychological software, which is why it surprised no one-Kunzman included-when 77 teams signed up to contend in the inaugural run. Car and Driver was one of them.

In fact, Kunzman was actually a little disappointed with the turnout. He'd hoped for 81 entries, giving his enduro a bragging edge over the annual Daytona 24-hour in total cars, as well as duration.

In years past, the Daytona limit was 80, although the '04 field was limited to 68.

Kunzman tried to sweeten the allure by making it a race within a race-a 12-hour running with the 25-hour. Prior to 2003, NASA's annual Thunderhill enduro had been a 12-hour, a tradition dating to 1997. Those signing up for the half-day run would get their own trophies, as well as a lot more sleep, a little less expense, and a lot less wear and tear on their cars.

This unusual format called for careful explanation at the pre-race drivers' meeting.

"At 12 hours," said Kunzman, "the checkered flag will be displayed at start/finish."

He paused, surveyed a lot of blank looks, then resumed speaking even slower, emphasizing each word.

"If you are participating only in the 12-hour, and you see the checkered flag at start/finish, come in at the end of that lap.

"If you are participating in the 25-hour, and you see the checkered flag, do not come into the pits. Keep racing."

There were just four cars doing only 12 hours, so this little plot twist didn't seem to create much confusion when the checkers came out that night. Then again, if anyone stopped by mistake, who would know?

Of the 77 entries, comprising seven different competition classes, only 73 actually took the green flag. Still, 73 cars on a 3.0-mile circuit seemed like plenty. The Daytona road course is 3.56 miles, a lot of it wide-open running, giving the field a chance to sort itself out from lap to lap. In contrast, Thunderhill's 15-turn layout, though fast, doesn't have any long, wide-open straight stretches. Created by Alan Wilson, the Hugo Boss of contemporary American road-racing track design (examples: Michigan's GingerMan, Pennsylvania's BeaveRun, Alabama's Barber Motorsports Park), this 20-year-old California circuit (about 75 miles northwest of Sacramento) offers a challenging collection of blind turns and cunningly exploited elevation changes. And with a couple of exceptions, most of its turns also offer plenty of runoff room. However, 73 cars on a track without many straight stretches make it likely that some of them will be rubbing against some of the others at some point. Stir in big disparities in speed, driver skill, and experience, and the likelihood increases. Then factor in darkness (sunset at 4:45 p.m., sunrise at 7:10 a.m.), plus inclement weather, and the likelihood of mayhem escalates into certainty.

Considering the foregoing, we chose for this campaign a Caterham Super Seven Clubsport, which might seem ill-advised. A lightweight compared with most other cars, the little Caterham isn't a candidate for rugby-style racing, i.e., lots of contact. And you could also observe that there might be a better choice than an open car for a mid-December race in a climate where winter rain is common. So are mid-30s temperatures.

Make that an open car with no windshield wipers. Why no wipers? Because they were superfluous, since the clear plastic windshield was just 4.5 inches high and 17.8 inches wide. Jez Coates told us not to worry: The mini-screen would direct air—along with whatever happened to be in the air (read "rain")—over the driver's head. A 21-year Caterham veteran, Coates was our crew chief. He's also a veteran of other Caterham enduros, several as a driver, and happens to be the company's technical director. The man had to know, right? But on this particular issue, Coates could have been, uh, better informed. Rain will penetrate the screen's tiny aero barrier, and the driver will emerge well moistened. You could check with our own Larry Webster, who drove the race's second stint in a downpour of biblical intensity.

"What's it like out there?" we asked after he climbed out.

"Hideous," he said. "There were times when I couldn't see a thing. Stone blind.

"I could tell when I was getting close to another car because of the spray. Then I'd get through the spray and realize I was 30 mph faster than the car I was overtaking.

"The Avon rain tires were awesome—amazing grip in the wet. I just wish I'd been able to do more with it. That was the longest two-and-a-half hours of my life."

With a testimonial like that, the wisdom of our car choice might seem questionable. But we'd been persuaded by some fairly compelling factors. For one, at least a couple of us—Csere and your humble narrator (HN)—were on hand to see a Caterham Super Seven prevail at the 1992 Nelson Ledges 24-Hour race. We were there to drive a brand-new Mazda RX-7. It was the fastest thing on the track, but the Caterham wasn't much slower, and it could go more than two hours on a tank of fuel. The Mazda was sucking wind in about 45 minutes. We were also impressed by the car's sure-footed performance in the misty rain that persisted throughout the Nelson night. Perhaps it wasn't too surprising, considering the car's national origins. But it made a lasting impression.

The other factor affecting our Thunderhill choice was our recent test of a current Caterham Super Seven Roadsport SV (February 2004), powered by the standard 147-hp, 2.0-liter Ford Zetec four. That car scooted to 60 mph in 4.6 seconds and pulled 0.96 g on the skidpad with a set of Avon ZZ1 205/45ZR-16 street tires. So when Jon Nelson, Caterham's U.S. distributor, stopped by to collect the car after our testing, we floated the idea of running one of his roadsters in the 25-hour. What we had in mind was the new upgrade edition the company had begun offering, powered by the 2.0-liter DOHC 16-valve four used in the soon-to-be-discontinued Ford SVT Focus. In SVT tune it's rated for 170 horsepower, but the Caterham people claim at least 180, thanks largely to a less restrictive exhaust system. We figured with more power, less mass—our February test car weighed 1438 pounds wet, a race-prepped version would come in at "about 1240 pounds," according to Nelson—and the added grip of Avon racing slicks, the Caterham could be a contendah. Not the fastest: Cosmetically faithful to Colin Chapman's 1957 Lotus 7 original, the Caterham's aerodynamics are essentially brickish. But quick, and cat agile.

The short version: We thought the little Caterham could win the whole thing. Over in Caterham, England, at company headquarters, Coates, who was one of the drivers in the Nelson Ledges-winning car, thought the same. The factory decided to ship a brand-new car to Caterham USA for the effort. The shops of Denver's Rocky Mountain Sports Cars (Caterham's next-door neighbor) went to work on the prep, and before you could say, "Some assembly required," we were counting down to the weekend of December 5, 2003. We could almost taste the champagne.

All this euphoria was before we knew about the Porsches: three 911 GT3 Cup cars, all race ready, all seriously fast. There was also an older 911 RSR (1985), but it wasn't as quick, nor was it driven with as much zeal, although its array of lights generated enough candlepower to be visible from orbit, which made passing this sinister black beast at night a retina-searing experience.

Practice opened Friday morning—for teams willing to pay an additional $200 fee—and as the morning drizzle gave way to overcast but dry conditions in the afternoon, we began learning both the car and the track. Getting into the car, for example, was a unique experience. The roll cage didn't allow any room for a side entry. Instead, the drivers climbed up to the top and went straight down into the little cockpit. It had to be about the same as slithering down the conning tower of a two-man midget submarine.

Once tucked in, though, the driver had enough room to operate comfortably, and the simple controls and instruments were sufficient unto the car's simple mission. This wasn't too surprising, since there's been almost a half-century of development behind this car. Lotus 7 production officially came to an end in 1973, when Chapman signed over manufacturing rights to Caterham, which had been functioning as a 7 racing shop, among other activities. Caterham has carried on since, making occasional upgrades to the car's sturdy space frame and powertrain over the years. It's a better car than the original, but it hasn't lost touch with its classic British sports-car roots. In case you've forgotten, it was the Brits who gave us the classic definition: "a two-seater, usually open, which in a pinch can be raced."

That certainly applies to the Caterham Seven. Its only concessions to street use are turn signals and headlights. For the race, we replaced the headlights with Hella FF 1000 xenon driving lamps and the turn signals with tiny Hella Micro DE xenon driving lights.

Lighting aside, though, the Caterham is essentially a street-legal, two-seat sports-racing car, and that's exactly how it felt. The distinction between street cars and pure racing machinery lies in the number of compromises that make the car tolerable for street use. The fewer compromises there are, the less muffled the connection between man and machine, and in the Caterham there is very little dissonance. The veneer of civilization is thin to the point of transparency. So although it might not be a first choice for a cross-country pleasure trek, the Caterham is a sweetheart on a racetrack—an extension of the driver's will.

As pleased as we were during our get-acquainted stints with the Caterham, it became plain that beating the trio of GT3 Porsches was going to require some luck, an impression that solidified to certainty when we finally got around to qualifying.

Qualifying turned out to be one of several quirky elements imposed by NASA. Official practice, open to any team that had paid the entry fee—as distinct from the optional $200 all-day practice—lasted exactly a half-hour, from 4:45 to 5:15, followed immediately by a half-hour of qualifying, all of it after dark. In a way, this was a good thing, since it gave the 73 teams some experience with Thunderhill at night. All of them. At once.

Nathan Down handled our qualifying run. A Briton transplanted from the Caterham works to a post with Caterham USA, Down is an active racer with extensive Formula Ford experience. He had the seventh-quickest time overall, fourth among the "real" cars, a distinction we impose to separate the 14 sports-racing cars in the field. Although the wheels of the sports racers are enclosed, they're pure race cars, unlike the production-based cars that made up the rest of the field. The sports racers ranged from the very quick—an ultra-low design called a Radical, powered by a Suzuki Hayabusa motorcycle engine, and a Lola with a Mazda 12A rotary—to some well-traveled SCCA Spec Racers and Spec Racer Fords.

We were impressed by the speed of some of the sports racers, but the fastest were also fragile, and the three Porsches—390-hp, 2600-pound, factory-prepared turn-key race cars capable of easily running 10 seconds a lap faster than the Caterham—still figured to be the cars to beat.

With 73 cars and the threat of impending wet weather, being well up the grid was helpful, to reduce chances of a first-corner debacle. So seventh didn't seem too bad—whereupon we encountered another NASA quirk. Instead of using straight qualifying order, NASA put the cars on the grid by qualifying order in their classes, beginning with the sports racers (ESR), followed by our class (ES), and so on, with blank spots on the grid if a class didn't happen to embrace an even number of cars. As a result, instead of sitting in grid position seven, Down found himself 18th, with some decidedly slower cars in front of him.

We've rarely run across a more richly varied grid than this one. Besides the sports racers and our own car, other oddities included a pair of Factory Five Cobra replicars (also great fun in a downpour), a handsome 1979 Alfa Romeo Sprint GT (which motored with slow dignity to 25th), a Legends five-eighths-scale mini-jalopy (driven with unnerving verve, particularly at night), and 13 Miatas, the best of which finished ninth overall. There were 10 Mazda RX-7s, all years, of widely differing performance capabilities.

Yet another NASA quirk involved pit-stop regulations. Only cars running in the top two classes (fortunately including the Caterham) could add more than 10 gallons of fuel per stop and change more than one tire at a time. The idea was to impose competitive parity among the shoestring teams, reducing the cost of manpower to cover pitwork over 25 hours. Since all stops were to be under green-flag conditions—the Thunderhill pits weren't big enough to accommodate the entire field simultaneously—it certainly made things more interesting for teams wishing to make a hurried change of tires for wet and dry conditions. And this proved to be the case for most of the field almost immediately: The threatening skies began to unload the minute the pace car started off on the first of its two laps at 11 o'clock Saturday morning. When the green flag dropped, the pack thundered off toward Turn One, hidden in a vast cloud of spray, Down tiptoeing along somewhere in its midst on a set of dry-weather slicks, which gave the Caterham all the handling stability of a hog on ice.

Like many others, Down came in at the end of a long first lap to change tires and rejoined well down in the order. At the end of the first hour, we were 20th overall, the beginning of what would be a long trudge back. When Webster handed over to Csere at about 4:00 p.m., the rain had subsided to a drizzle and stopped altogether within about a half-hour. Although it took several hours for the track to be truly dry and clean—most corners were slathered with mud, making traction treacherous and also making it difficult to identify the edges of the paving—the skies were clear the rest of the way.

Dry conditions should have helped to minimize carnage, and perhaps they did. But it was hard to believe this when daylight returned. There was only one serious crash—a Factory Five Cobra absolutely obliterated the Radical sports racer in the second hour, bringing out the red flag and stopping the race for some 25 minutes (both drivers were injured, but not seriously). Almost every car in the field bore battle scars, including the Caterham. A right-of-way dispute with a Mini Cooper shortly after midnight cost us the left front fender and some 20 minutes to repair the rear suspension.

Nevertheless, our upward progress was generally steady: seventh overall at the five-hour mark, fifth by the halfway point. The Mini Cooper encounter dropped us back two spots, but from that point on, the Caterham was one of the race's dominant cars, a power trip interrupted only when one of the Porsches came whooping past.

Some notes by your HN after the first stint (about 6:30 p.m. to 8:15 p.m.) perhaps illustrate the rich driving experience the track afforded in the first half of the race.

"Is this the stuff dreams are made of? Maybe nightmares. I'm one of the first to go out on slick tires, and slick accurately describes the conditions: lots of slithering.

"The racing line is mostly dry, but only about three feet wide. If I venture to either side, I'm sliding. It gets wider as the laps go by, but with the drying track there's the problem of dirt—guys are spreading stuff all over the track.

"I put two wheels off at Turn One (scary), and four off at Turn 15 (muddy). I also have an encounter with another car, trying maybe a little too hard for an inside passing position with two guys who are racing each other. The right rear fender gets dinged a little, but it's just cosmetic.

"This kind of incident typifies what's going on at practically every corner on every lap. Lots of traffic endlessly trying to sort itself without incident, and not always succeeding. Daunting when three guys spin in front of you and you have no idea where they're going to wind up. Annoying when a slightly slower car decides he doesn't want you to pass. This kind of action occurs regularly.

"Are we having fun yet? You bet."

All three GT3s looked much the worse for wear as the race progressed, and all three lost time in the pits making various minor repairs. But all three were still running strong at the end, the fastest of them—the two Glenn Yee entries—logged 622 laps (1866 miles) to claim the top spots in a carefully orchestrated one-two finish.

By the end of the race, we had the fourth-fastest car on the track, which netted us, fittingly, fourth overall behind the Stuttgart trio, and fourth in a class of 13. The Caterham logged 571 laps (1713 miles) and finished seven laps up on the fifth-place car.

We finished 51 laps behind the winners and 43 laps behind the third-place GT3, but even so, we rate this as a pretty good showing for a relatively low-bucks effort. Race ready, with the SVT Focus engine (an estimated $7900) and six-speed transmission, our Super Seven Clubsport would retail for just over $39,000. Besides the powertrain, that includes an FIA-spec roll cage, oversize brakes, a racing seat and harness, an aluminum tonneau for the passenger side, racing shocks, stiffer springs, and a heavy-duty radiator. A 911 GT3 Cup car costs about $125,000. As one crew member observed, "Their extra wheels probably cost more than our whole car."

Of the 73 starters, some 50 or so were still circulating at the end of the race. We can't be more exact than that, because the official results don't separate the quick from the dead, and also because a great many cripples emerge from hiding at the end of a long race, to limp around for a lap or two and actually pass under the checkered flag.

And next year? Coates allowed as how he'd like to return with "about 300 horsepower." Sounds good, Mr. Coates. Could you also include a roof? And a windshield?

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